


Love and Hate in the Workplace

by Smushed



Series: Boys and their Business [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dom Sherlock, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexy Sherlock, Suits, boss!sherlock, employee!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smushed/pseuds/Smushed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was a notoriously unbearable boss and his PA John is sick to the back teeth of his attitude. When he quits work, he had it in mind to leave with a bang but he never imagined it would end with shameless carpet burns and sweat-sticking shirts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Hate in the Workplace

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this one-shot, if you want to know what inspired me it was basically the song: Adam Lambert - Fever, I literally listened to it the whole way writing it.

John Watson hated his boss. Fucking hated him. Today was the day he was going to quit. Sherlock Holmes was the executive CEO of British Television. He ran the nations favourite channels, doing the bits for the kids, the soap-tea-time-telly, and the late-night extravagant naughty bits pretty much everything and anything for the entertainment of the British public. He would also stomp on anyone that got in the way of his vision of how telly should be run. 

It still, to this very day, pisses Watson off that he was instantly hired upon making Sherlock’s tea perfectly the first try. What an idiot. John thought to himself at the time. But then Sherlock had completely analysed and debased him in a matter of seven seconds flat. 

_“That. Was amazing.” John gazed at Sherlock, bemused and astounded at the sheer power of his deductibility and accuracy of his analysis. Sherlock had only raised his brow slightly in response._

_“That’s not what people normally say.” He replied._

_“What do people normally say?”_

_“Piss off.” Sherlock looked indifferent as he sipped his tea. “You’re hired.”_

The years he had worked with this man had been frustrating, infuriating and far too stressful. He blamed his boss for the greying blonde hair on his temples. Sherlock’s demands and frustrations were at times overwhelming and it completely prevented him from having any legitimate love life. He was in his mid thirties for God’s sake. He was the most efficient PA in the South of England; he had an excellent memory and with his past military-service was fantastic at being firm with all of Sherlock’s appointments and arrangements. So surely, John could get a much better job somewhere else.

He sighed at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing back on his chair. It was the end of the day, and on a Friday at the end of the week at 5pm, Sherlock always had some whisky. It was now 7pm, the alcoholic buzz might have touched Sherlock’s face by now, so this was the perfect timing. 

He was going to do it now.

He moved to the typical ornate oak door and hesitated before he opened it. Sherlock was on his balcony, whiskey in hand and a cigarette in the other. He seemed annoyed, irate, but nothing unusual there. 

And it was just the way the light hit Sherlock’s face at this time of day, the way the sun was setting that highlighted the prominent cheekbone and jaw... The way his throat was shadowed so John could see the whisky roll down his neck. It was just the way that Sherlock’s eyes glistened a metallic silver with sheens of blue and green (like when you hold a CD to a ray of light), that made John Watson remember. Although this man is the most infuriating and sociopathic person he had ever met, he was also the most handsome and downright gorgeous man he had ever laid his eyes on. 

There were only so many times he could tell himself _‘I’m not fucking gay’_ before he realised he was lying to himself- and even if he wasn’t gay, Sherlock would always be the one and only exception. 

“You’re quitting.” Sherlock interrupted John’s de-railing train of thought; the velvet deep voice resonated through to John’s ears like honey on a sore throat.

John frowned, he was about to ask how he knew, but obviously he knew. Can’t get anything past the boss, but why did Sherlock look so melancholy? It wasn’t the typical sadness one sees in everyday humans. It was more like a mask of irritated impatience that was tinged with something that no one else would have noticed, aside John. He knew the man well enough by now to see that he wasn’t good.

“Another one leaving...” He breathed a cloud of swirling smoke into the light. “Knew it.” The biting tone was ever-present in his voice and that was when John’s concerns were wiped away with every memory of being belittled by this man.

At that moment John’s anger flared up. “Yeah, course you knew. But what you didn’t know is how much of your SHIT I have had to deal with all these years!” John snapped, he had always used a firm tone with his boss but it was always in an attempt to heard Sherlock’s unpredictable inconsiderateness. This rewarded John with the slight widening of his boss’s eyes which bore into his demeanor. John stood his ground and stepped forward. Both of his fists were clenched tightly as his jaw stiffened. Was- was Sherlock actually speechless? His boss flicked the last of the ash of his ciggie, took one last drag and flicked the fag butt over the balcony before he strolled over to his desk and topped up his whisky.

“You are unbearable sometimes! You never appreciate just how far I stick my neck out for you!” John continued forwards, craving those eyes to rest on him and not on that bloody whiskey- why wouldn’t he even look at him? 

“Oi!” He slammed his hands on Sherlock’s desk, his chest heaving as his adrenalin had risen with every ounce of courage he threw into the room. Sherlock was doing this on purpose now, John was sure of it. His pretentious boss kept his steady hand pouring the extra large tumbler of whiskey as slowly as humanly possible, and ignored John’s demands for attention, even when the glasses on the table rattled from the force of his fists. 

As Sherlock finally managed to glance up, he was a little too late; John’s hands had grabbed the beautifully angular face in both hands and tilted it to face his own which was mere inches away.

“You’re the most infuriating prick I’ve ever met, I hate you. But I fucking love you.” John’s lips were upon Sherlock’s with bruising force, the tang of smoke and sweet malt whisky sifted into his senses like being submerged in a warm bath. His hands slid across his favourite cheekbones and into the forest of rich dark curls. John still cradled Sherlock’s head as his furious kiss had slipped away from his boss’s mouth. Relief and lust and embarrassment and desperation flushed John’s face. Sherlock’s eyes were wide, his plump lips still slightly apart, and then their eyes connected. Sherlock grasped John’s head and returned the intense kisses, the fiery heat burning both of their bodies, he flipped John around and pressed him against the desk, with one hand behind John, Sherlock completely wiped the objects off his table with a swift movement. The whiskey glass spilled and the bottle clashed quietly on the carpet, papers skidded and his laptop thudded, John found himself breathless as he was pushed onto the hard oak and mounted in a fluid motion. Those familiar swift hips bestride his own, his boss was insatiable now, their mouths exploring heatedly, and upon the swiping of a tongue John’s throat betrayed a moan. 

The speed in which the moment occurred stunned John, who couldn’t contain his excitement at being completely smothered by someone he had only dreamt about and denied himself all these years. His cock was hard; without a moment to even feel a drop of shame, slender efficient fingers had already grasped him through his clothes. 

“Oh God.” John gasped, he attempted to sit up but another hand forcefully pressed him down. 

“I am unsure how long you have waited for this, but you don’t know how long I have either, Watson.” The deep baritone tickled his ear; the lips grazed his cuff and nipped his lobe. John was a mess of melting lust, a hand warm on his chest and gently grazing his stiff bulge in his trousers, those lips against his ear. John writhed beneath Sherlock’s touch, craving more; he gripped Sherlock’s neck and head and spurred more kisses, all messy and askew the mouth he stared at daily. His tongue stroked across Sherlock's, the one he would dream about licking his body, his teeth grazed the jaw he admired, the kisses littered Sherlock’s neck and collar bone that were always so tantalisingly exposed by his slightly unbuttoned tight shirts. 

Sherlock gripped John’s hair with his fist as he felt himself being smothered, a groan shuddered from him, the most foreign and sexy sound that John had ever heard. John’s hands moved to grip Sherlock’s hips, nipping his collar bone he moved so that he could grind himself against Sherlock- when he felt the reciprocated hardness he sighed a long shuddering breath. 

Sherlock hadn’t moved for a while, and had allowed John his moment. But he would not be maneuvered by any one, not even someone he was remotely fond of like John. He slipped from John’s grip and off of his hips and stood back on the ruined carpet, he dragged John up by the lapels and drove him to the wall and shoved him up against it. The taller man looked down upon him with dark eyes.

“Wh-What are you doing?” John’s usual irritated tone had been tainted by his arousal, his flushed face looking up at his boss. Sherlock’s knee raised and nudged John’s legs apart before kneading hiss crotch, John gasped at the touch. 

“I’m going to make you scream, Watson. I am going to make you feel amazing. You’re going to beg me.” The slim dextrous fingers slid behind John’s neck. “I am going to make you beg.” John didn’t have a chance to moan, it was muffled by the full and open mouth of his boss. More kisses; he needed to be closer.

Fingers began to unbutton John’s trousers and when the chilly fingers held his hot and hard cock he felt like a helpless mess on the wall of his boss’s office. He could do nothing but grab at Sherlock’s shirt and back and arms in some desperate attempt to ground himself. “Oh my God” John’s brow was furrowed in pure turmoil, he fucking needed this. He was sliding down the wall and Sherlock allowed him to slip into a slump on the floor, he shuffled John’s trousers down and unbuttoned John’s shirt. Flicking the material down John’s arms John lay there mostly naked; his half-removed garments acting like restrictions.

Sherlock’s mouth was on his nipple, teeth scraped and John gasped, two cold hands were stroking down John’s torso and one hand held his dick with a firm hand. John felt the other hand tickle down his seam, he hissed and gasped shamless noises he didn’t even realise he could make. What was going on? He had never done this before, but Sherlock’s movements were so confident and, oh God, he looked so unbelievably sexy the way he leaned down over John, exploring him with his hands.

His fingers were wet, when had that happened? Through his half lidded eyes and scrunching of his expression he missed the bottle of lubricant that had been tossed aside. A cold and slippery finger slid inside John, and he stiffened and wriggled, it was an odd sensation. That strong firm hand was on his chest again. 

“Relax, John.” Oh God, he said ‘John’, it was such a rare occurrence to hear his name from those lips that this time the deep baritone melted into his limbs, he felt his body ease into relaxation and suddenly things were more comfortable. The efficient hand added another finger, John’s stuttered moan escaped him, the scissoring motion and wriggling, it was sensitive and gentle and it felt so good. This was so intimate and so personal, he opened his eyes to see the dark and seductive glare of Sherlock, it bore right into him, it felt like those metallic gray eyes were the ones feeding the flutter in his stomach. He was more attached to this moment than he ever thought he would be.  
Sherlock completely removed John’s trousers with his free hand, and shuffled himself between the bare legs, and applied some lubrication to himself. John felt the clothed knees beside his naked thighs and he edged upwards a little, this was overwhelming. But not as overwhelming as Sherlock’s next movement, he pulled John to the ground and whilst he was lay on his back two hands moved up the bare thighs and pulled them up by the knee. And that is when John felt Sherlock’s cock pressed against his hole and he gasped.  
“Are you ready, John?” The eyes looked at John with desire, fervour and something else.

 _Oh God, don’t say my name like that and bloody hell... stop looking at me like that._ John nodded his head, and that is when Sherlock pressed inwards. A moment of fullness yet being consumed at the same time, the sensation of someone inside him so new and alien to him that it was exciting and he couldn’t help but allow his mouth to stay agape. The two hands that were on his thighs now gripped the top and side of his head, cradling him with a firm and gentle touch as he was now pressed all the way in. He looked concerned and still analytical but a more appreciative expression lay on the usual stiff face. 

“Sh-Sherlock. Move...” John urged, gripping Sherlock’s back, his finger nails scraping as Sherlock pulled out and then waited. “Sherlock!”

The boss smiled. “Beg.”

John was frozen, he was a proud man but fuck, he wanted this so badly. That gorgeous mouth twitched into a smile. “Please.” John murmured, but Sherlock still waited, just the head of his cock inside. “Please please, _fucking_ , PLEASE.” John agitatedly repeated wriggling down in an attempt to penetrate himself.

Sherlock slammed back in. “Oh God.” John tossed his head to the side, a warm surge of pleasure ran along his body. The pace began to quicken and that is when his swollen prostate was being grazed. How was it possible for Sherlock to fit? He felt huge inside of him, he tried to relax more into the movements. The more he relaxed the more the waves of pleasure ran through him. Sherlock’s movements grew more desperate, he was slamming into John on the carpet, the friction gave him burns and grazes but the pleasure was entirely contrasting; sex on the floor felt one hundred times better than John had ever imagined.

An angle shift from the competent hips, and suddenly John was blinded by intense overwhelming pleasure. His prostate was being hammered relentlessly, he shut his eyes to stop them rolling to the back of his head. He gripped Sherlock so tightly that he swore he could hear a tear in the fabric of Sherlock’s most handsomely fitted purple shirts. One of Sherlock’s hands pressed against John’s torso and the other touched John’s leaking cock. This was too much now; the continual connection to his sensitive swelling inside of him intensified the swift movements of Sherlock’s hands moving up and down his cock. John was a writhing mess gasping and moaning beneath his boss. He wasn’t going to last much longer, Sherlock’s speed indicated he was approaching too.

“John- Come for me, John.” Sherlock uttered, sweat was beading on his head and his shirt was sticking to him slightly. The coarse voice alone was enough; but the sight of this man like _this_ over him made him spill over the edge. John moaned embarrassingly loud, decorating his chest with his own come as his orgasm was heightened by the incessant slamming into his prostate. Sherlock followed shortly after, moaning deep and warm down John’s ear as he collapsed onto him. 

John’s skin was screaming hot, and his back was burning with the angry red grazes from the carpet, Sherlock lay beside him, panting, the smell of whiskey and smoke and his expensive aftershave a sweet mixture with the smell after their sex. The sunset through the city had a streak of light pierce the office and right across the stunning and glistening face of his boss. If John could pin-point this as the most perfect moment he had ever had, he certainly would. He looked at his boss, Sherlock Holmes. They had certainly broken several laws and rules of the workplace, but it sifted through their features in a beam of happiness and they chuckled together. The laugh of the deep baritone was so warm, kind and fresh compared to the usual irate tones that work brought them that John’s alter ego threw the idea of quitting work right out off the balcony. He remembered that through the sickening stress, working for this man was so rewarding, this flutter in his stomach was one of the best feelings in the world.

“Same time again tomorrow, Watson?” Sherlock read John’s mind. Of course he wasn’t going anywhere.


End file.
